


Through the Years

by whitherwaywill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, BAMF Hermione Granger, Canon Rewrite, Diagon Alley, F/M, Gen, Hermione Granger-centric, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, What-If, basically dramione inserted into canon, what if draco and hermione were friends?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitherwaywill/pseuds/whitherwaywill
Summary: He's a wealthy pureblood heir with a prejudiced father. She's a muggle-born witch. One in Slytherin, one in Gryffindor. One with ties to the wrong side, one who fights for the light. But through the years, they have a friendship that can only be called unique. Dramione, what might have been.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Kudos: 22





	1. the beginning

“Are you ready?” Draco nodded seriously at his mother, staring at the brick that he knew would open the door to a world. Lucius drew his wand, and tickled it. As the brick began to wiggle, Draco closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes again, it was right there in front of him.

Diagon Alley.

Draco Malfoy smiled as he breathed in the life of the place, lined with stores and crowded with students and parents doing their back to school shopping. He pushed his shoulders back and puffed up before marching forward, flanked by his parents. This year, he wasn’t coming with a governess or his mother to get an ice cream and people watch. This year, he would be one of the people shopping. He grinned up at his mother, and she sneaked a smile back. Lucius offered his arm to Narcissa, and the family of three paraded down the alley.

“Where do you want to go first, Draco?” Narcissa asked, smiling at her eleven-year-old son.

“Quality Quidditch Supplies!” he said excitedly, looking up at her with wide eyes. “They have a new broom, Mum, it’s supposed to be even faster than the other models! Puddlemere United is going to buy them for the whole team, and so is Ireland’s team, and Scotland’s team…”

Narcissa laughed. “Well, if everyone is going to have one, so will you.”

“No one in his year will have one, Narcissa,” Lucius broke into their conversation. “You’re a first year, Draco. First years aren’t allowed brooms, as you well know. Wait until next year, when you’ll be able to bring it to school. I’m sure they’ll have come out with the next latest, greatest model by then.”

Draco visibly wilted, not meeting his father’s eyes.

“Where’s the list, Narcissa?” Mr. Malfoy asked briskly. “We should get this done as quickly as possible.”

Narcissa fumbled in her reticule, drawing out the crisp parchment. Draco’s eyes followed his letter as his father took it. The man scanned it, then gave it back to Narcissa.

“Well,” he said. “Narcissa, why don’t you go look at wands. I’ll go get the boy’s books, and Draco, you go get your robes. It’s a simple enough task, I’m sure you’ll be able to do it on your own.” His tone left no room for argument.

Draco’s parents separated in front of Madame Malkin’s, Narcissa moving back up the street, and Lucius stalking into Flourish and Blott’s. Draco was left alone in front of the robe-maker’s shop.

As he perused the window display, Lucius aimed an admonition like glare at his son. Draco stiffened and turned to march into Malkin’s shop. Before he could, the door flew open, and a family came out. All three had brown hair, the adults with glasses, the daughter with huge teeth that Draco couldn’t miss. How could he, when her mouth was wide open, gabbling away.

“I know we still have to get the school books, Mum, but do you think I could have whatever is left over? I wanted to get some extras, heaven knows it will be hard enough to start a new school, don’t you think I should know something about the culture? Of course, we don’t know how much anything costs yet, but I already have my wand, and that’s the most important thing, don’t you agree? But again, wands are nothing without books to learn spells from, which brings us back to the assigned books and extra reading…”

Draco stared as they passed by. It didn’t seem that the girl even needed to breathe; he didn’t think she stopped for a single breath. Shaking his head, he walked into the shop she had just exited. What an incredible swot, he thought, she’ll have no friends.

Still, even though he tried to dismiss her and her family, the image of the three brown-haired people, walking up the street with their arms about each other stayed with him as he greeted Madame Malkin and began to fit his robes.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She had always been the outsider, always been the nerd, the swot that no one wanted to be friends with. No one understood how _fun_ school was, how she could even want to go back, miss it. Most people skipped whenever they could, but not Hermione. She was there every possible day.

So when Minerva McGonagall appeared at her front door with a letter, Hermione was excited.

Her parents were more skeptical. _Are you sure_ , they asked the professor. _Are you sure there’s no mistake?_

But she knew it, knew in her heart of hearts that it was true. She, Hermione Granger, was a witch.

She thought it explained everything, from her social awkwardness to her amazing grades. She convinced herself to study harder, and convinced her parents to buy her extra books from the wizarding bookstore. A _wizard’s bookstore_. It was a dream come true for Hermione, who could never have enough books. Her parents got her the books, smiling at each other over her head at their daughter’s excitement.

The rest of summer was a blur. She memorized all the textbooks, eyes wide in wonder at every single thing that was mentioned. She read the histories, not understanding half the words, words that included _pureblood_ , _half-blood_ , _blood traitor_ , _blood-status_ , _muggle-born_. Her parents were muggles. She was a witch. It was as simple as that.

She woke her parents up at 6 AM on September 1st.

“Hogwarts today!” was the constant refrain as she said last minute good-byes to her cat, to the bird, to the next-door neighbor who tolerated her but wasn’t exactly a friend.

She would have friends, real friends, once she got to Hogwarts. She knew it. She could feel it in her bones.

“Platform Nine…Hermione, the next one is Platform Ten. There is no ‘nine-and-three-quarters’,” Mr. Granger said, scratching the back of his head.

“Don’t you remember, Daddy?” she asked impatiently. “We have to run at the barrier. Magic, remember?”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged a look over their daughter’s head. “Look, honey,” Mr. Granger said, crouching down to Hermione’s level. “It’s hard for Mummy and I to see that there’s magic here. We’ve been here before, remember when we went to visit Grandma in Wiltshire? There’s never been anything between Platform Nine and Platform Ten. I commute to work every day. I’d notice if they were doing construction or anything.”

“But it’s _magic_ ,” Hermione pleaded. “Perfectly safe. You wouldn’t have noticed, you’re a muggle, remember?” She looked at her mum. “You’ll come with me, right, Mum?”

Mrs. Granger smiled wanly at her daughter. She kneeled beside her husband.

“Hermione,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “Hermione, you’re _special_. You’re magic, and we…we’re not. I think it’s best if Daddy and I stay on this side of the barrier. Let’s say our good-byes here.”

Hermione’s bottom lip trembled. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen…her parents were supposed to say good-bye on the Platform, and wave at her as the train pulled out of the station. That was what happened in all of her school books…She looked back and forth between her father and mother’s worried faces. She gulped, hoping it wasn’t actually as loud as it sounded in her head.

“Okay,” she whispered waterily. “Bye Mum, bye Dad…”

They hugged her.

“Be good at school, kid…”

“Show them your Granger smarts.”

“We love you. We’ll watch you go from here.”

“Love you,” Hermione said, drawing away and leaning on her trolley to push it forward. After a few steps, she wondered if maybe she had packed one too many books. Her trunk was more than a little bit heavy. _One day I’ll have magic to do this_ , she thought as she broke into a run, racing at the barrier.

She kept her eyes open the whole time, watching the wall draw closer and closer, refusing to cringe back or swerve to avoid a collision. _That’s what a muggle would do_ , she told herself, boosting her nerve. _And I’m not a muggle. I’m a witch._

Hermione watched as the wall shimmered before her eyes, before turning into a smoke that she easily passed through. Coming out on the other side, she gaped at the different Platform. Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, a sign said.

“I did it!” she squealed. “I’m here!” She jumped up and down a few moments, before quieting. Returning to her much too heavy trunk, she pulled it off the trolley and made her way to the train.

Finding a compartment was easy…she was obviously one of the first ones there, and most of them were empty. Huffing, she attempted to lift her trunk up onto the rack.

“Here, let me help you with that,” a voice said, enunciating each word perfectly.

“Oh, thank you!” Hermione gasped, pushing her hair out of her face. A pale pair of hands helped her lift her trunk up onto the rack.

“Merlin, what do you have in that thing?” the boy who had helped her panted, pushing his hair out of his face.

“Books,” she answered breathlessly. “Lots of them. I don’t think I should pack as many next time…”

“Yeah, that might make it easier,” the boy drawled. Straightening, he held out a hand.

“Malfoy,” he said, then paused, clearly waiting for a reaction. When she just looked at him, he continued on. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, I’m Hermione,” she said, shaking his hand.

He made a face. “I don’t like being called that. ‘Mr. Malfoy.’ Makes me think my dad’s right behind me, and that’s who they’re talking to.” He paused. “Do you have a last name, Hermione?”

“As a matter of fact,” she said mischievously, “I do.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly expecting her to tell him. She just flopped back onto one of the seats, and looked at him.

He was fairly pretty, she thought. Beautiful hair. White blond, almost translucent, although the effect was taken away from a little bit by the slicked back hairstyle he wore, which made his pointy chin and nose even more pronounced. But he had nice eyes, and that made up for the pointiness. Hermione had a terrible weakness for eyes.

“Are you quite done?” he asked, growing tired of her inspection. “Or would you like me to spin around so you can examine my backside as well?” he added flippantly.

Hermione reddened, and his cheeks became pink as well as he realised what he had implied. “So,” he cleared his throat. “Last name?”

“I don’t think I’m going to tell you,” the girl said contemplatively. “You put so much store in surnames.”

“Really?” He joined her on the seat, aiming for a nonchalant pose. “And you think that why?”

“Most people would say their given name first,” she said, leaning back. “But you started with your surname. You seem like one of those people to always call people by their last names, too. So, to cure you of that, you only get to know my first name.”

She smirked at the boy. He looked at her, emotionless, for a moment, before cracking a smile. “You’re a Slytherin for sure,” he said decidedly.

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “You see, I’m a…”

She was interrupted by stomping steps, coming straight toward her compartment. “What’s that?” she asked in alarm.

Draco smirked at her expression. “Oh, it’s probably just Crabbe and Goyle.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Probably?”

Draco shrugged. “Or a couple of elephants, but I think those two are a fair guess.”

“Malfoy!” Goyle said as he entered the compartment. “I’m here. Crabbe too.”

“Well, I can see that,” Draco said wryly as the two large boys put their trunks up. Hermione had shrunk in her seat as the two came in.

“Who’s that?” Crabbe sneered at her as he took a seat.

“This is Hermione with the last name she won’t tell us,” Draco told him. “She’s fine.”

“Drakey!” a high-pitched voice squealed in the corridor.

Draco stiffened as Hermione looked even more bemused. “Anything you want to tell me, gentlemen?” he growled.

Hermione shook with suppressed laughter as the two huge boys knuckled down to the small, pale one.

“Pansy might have followed us,” Goyle muttered. Draco groaned and threw his head against the seat.

“C’mere.” He pulled Hermione from her side of the seat they were sharing over so she was pressed up against him.

“What are you doing?!” she hissed.

“I’m doing nothing,” he said quietly. “You’re saving me.”

“From what?” she asked, more interested now.

“Drakey!”

The compartment door was flung open, and another first year stepped in, dressed in fashionable robes and kitten heels. Draco cringed, and Hermione inspected the girl. “What’s so bad?” she whispered to Draco.

“Hey, Pansy,” he croaked. “How are you?”

“Wonderful, Drakey…” she trailed off as she noticed Hermione. “Who’s she?”

“This is Hermione,” Draco said, patting the girl’s curly hair. He hoped Pansy didn’t notice how she stiffened at his touch.

“With no last name,” Crabbe supplied.

“Not one she’s telling us,” Goyle finished.

“Probably a half-blood,” Pansy sniffed, talking about Hermione as if the girl was invisible. She sat down in a seat, and fluffed out her skirt, posing prettily.

“Actually,” Hermione began, “I’m not a…”

The compartment door banged open yet again, and Draco moaned. A pudgy boy fell in through the door, and quickly picked himself up.

“Hi, I…” He stopped as Crabbe and Goyle stood up, towering over him. “I…I’m looking for a toad…” he ended in a whisper.

“Oh dear, you’ve lost your toad?” Pansy snickered, wrinkling her nose up in an unpleasant way.

“No big loss,” Draco said.

Hermione glared at him. “Where did you see him last?” she asked the boy.

“The compartment…” he whispered.

“Well, why don’t we go check there first,” she said. She looked back at Malfoy, as if she was expecting him to come along. He stared back at her as if she were crazy.

“Are you mad?” he asked. “You’ll never find the slimy thing!”

While they had been talking, the boy had slowly inched his way out of the compartment.

“Well,” Hermione said, face flushed. “I’m going to go help him anyway.”

“I take it back,” Malfoy said lazily as she stepped over Crabbe and Goyle’s legs to get to the door. “No Slytherin. Probably a bleeding heart Hufflepuff.”

His minions laughed, but Hermione didn’t even turn around. Putting her hand behind her back, she flipped him the V before exiting the compartment. Draco laughed delightedly, then frowned. She got under his skin, and he still didn’t know her last name.

“Pansy,” he called. He patted the seat next to him. “Come sit with me.”

Her instant gratification boosted his ego considerably.

“First year, and you’ve already got a girl following you, Malfoy,” Blaise Zabini snickered as he slammed into their compartment.

“Two girls,” Crabbe grunted.

“Oh?” Zabini raised perfectly shaped eyebrows. “And the other?”

“Awful, bushy-haired thing,” Pansy sneered. “With teeth the size of dinner plates.”

“No need to be nasty,” Draco muttered under his breath. Pansy ignored him, continuing.

“I think she looks rather like a beaver.” She sniffed, grabbing Draco’s hand. “She’ll be in Hufflepuff for sure.”

“Slytherin,” Draco said, in barely a whisper.

Hermione intrigued him. She was a bit of a mystery…any other girl, with him helping her with her trunk, would have been simpering and giggling, trying to spin the chance meeting to their advantage. Even at twelve, any pureblood girl would know that Draco Malfoy was a catch. And he hadn’t really noticed Hermione’s teeth…not until Pansy pointed them out.

He sighed, slouching in his chair. Hopefully Hermione with no last name would stop being a mystery soon. He couldn’t imagine trying to explain her to his father.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Harry Potter was nice enough, Hermione thought as she moved toward the compartment door. She and Neville Longbottom, the toad boy, had gone back across the train to his compartment, then gone to visit the other compartments. They had stopped when they got to the one with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. It hadn’t been a very interesting visit, unless you counted the part where Ronald had failed to do a spell that almost certainly a fake.

“Come along, Neville,” she said, opening the compartment door and breezing out. Almost immediately, she bumped into someone she recognized. Draco Malfoy, again. After the goodbye in his compartment, really her compartment, she wasn’t sure how happy she was to see the boy.

“Oi, watch where you’re going!” Draco said irritably as Hermione exited a compartment and crashed into him. The pudgy boy was following her, and he stumbled, barely regaining his balance in time to prevent a fall.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Hermione said, backing up to look him in the eye. “I suppose I wasn’t looking. In a bit of a hurry…you didn’t happen to see his toad on your way here, did you?”

Draco stared at the girl in disbelief. “You really think I’d be looking for one?”

“Well, you did know Neville was looking for one,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

“Neville?” he said blankly. “I don’t know a Neville.”

“This is Neville,” she said, pushing the toadless boy in front of her.

“Oh,” Draco said. “We weren’t looking for a _toad_. Blaise Zabini said that everyone is saying Harry Potter is in a compartment down here.” Though of course, it was a good excuse to go looking for her as well.

“He’s in that compartment,” she said, pointing to the compartment she had just left. “He’s not really that special, to be honest.”

“I suppose I just have to find out for myself,” Draco said, looking past her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He and his goons pushed past her to go to the compartment with the boys. Hermione was quite obliging, he thought as he walked into the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle following behind him. She had pointed out the location of Potter, and he hadn’t had to go searching up and down the train for the bothersome boy.

“I’m going to go see the driver,” Hermione informed Neville. “I’ll see you at school!”

With that, she abandoned the boy in the corridor outside Harry Potter’s compartment.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The castle certainly was imposing. Draco stared at it as if he were trying to commit every little detail to memory. Really, the fact that Potter had rejected him, and Hermione had chosen the boat with Potter in it, stung a little bit.

He kept an eye on her as they walked up to the huge door, as they walked into the hall they were told to wait in by Professor McGonagall. ( _A half-blood,_ his father had told him. _Dumbledore’s right hand woman_.). As they stood at a stand-still, he made his way up to Hermione.

“Which house,” he whispered in her ear. She flinched, and turned to him.

“Must you creep up on me like that,” she asked, sounding resigned. He smirked at her, raising his eyebrows as if to say, what do you think?

“I don’t know,” she said. “About which house. All of them sound perfectly lovely, I don’t know which I’d rather be in. Slytherin is right out, of course, what with me being muggle-born and all. They’re all blood-purists, or most of them are. I honestly think Ravenclaw would be the best fit, but Gryffindor would be…”

“Wait.” Draco held a hand out, stopping her in the middle of her tirade. “Muggle-born? You’re _muggle-born?_ ” He sounded horrified.

She nodded. “Yes…?” Her voice twisted up at the end, making it sound like a question.

Draco took a large step back in between Crabbe and Goyle, his nose wrinkled. _Muggle-born_. It wasn’t possible.

“And your last name?” he said coldly.

“Granger,” she said, responding to his cold tone with an even colder one of her own.

“Of course,” he sneered. “Muggle-born.” He shook his head, still not believing it. “ _Muggle-born_.” He pushed away from her. Crabbe and Goyle followed him, reserving a sneer for the defamed girl. She watched them go, suddenly understanding.

Malfoy. His father was a blood-purist, or his grandfather had been. She shuddered. Of course he was. Hunching her shoulders, she turned to follow the group into the hall, attaching herself to Harry Potter once again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Another generation._

Draco was confused. Did the hat usually talk to those it sorted?

 _I’m sorry?_ He thought at it.

 _That’s how I keep track,_ the hat replied _. Yet another Malfoy, bound for Slytherin_.

 _Yes, put me there_ , Draco said firmly.

 _Are you sure?_ The hat said _. You…you could follow in your father’s footsteps in Slytherin, that is for sure. But your little muggle-born friend is in Gryffindor._

 _She’s not my friend. Put me in Slytherin, please, put me in Slytherin_ , Draco begged desperately.

 _If you’re sure_ , the hat said. _Better be_ SLYTHERIN!

The last was shouted out to the hall. Draco sighed with relief, and moved toward his new house’s table, disguising his shakiness as best he could.

Hermione watched him. Slytherin. How did she not see it? And…why did it hurt so much that he had rejected her.

She was beginning to lose her hopes for best friends. It was occurring to her that wizarding children were exactly the same as normal children, just with magic.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts…”

Draco opted out of singing, and just watched as the whole school made fools of themselves. He laughed with Zabini at the teachers, standing up there smiling, or, in the case of Professor Snape, scowling furiously. All of them, except for Dumbledore, looked as if they wanted to plug their ears.

“Crazy old duffer,” Zabini said.

Draco nodded. Almost against his will, his eyes were drawn to the muggle-born. Hermione Granger. He cringed and looked away. She was singing with fervor, as if they were going to be graded on it.

When the feast was over, he almost decided to seek her out. At the last minute, he turned and followed the Slytherin prefect, putting the bushy-haired girl out of his mind.

Now if only he could forget he had met her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


	2. First Year

She was horrible.

Maybe it was the muggle in her, maybe it was just how she was, but Hermione Granger was a know-it-all who always had to be right.

It showed in every class he had with her, with the hand quivering in the air. Draco was surprised she wasn't squealing, "Ooh, pick me, pick me!"

He didn't know why he was watching her. He tried not to. But still, she hadn't disappeared yet. If anything, it had become even harder to ignore her.

He wished she had been a pureblood, or at least a half-blood. Someone who could be in Slytherin. Instead she was in Gryffindor, and she was following Harry Potter around everywhere. Harry Potter! Draco hated that boy even more than he hated the muggle-born. And that was saying something.

He threw himself headlong into battle with the Boy Who Lived. He laughed and talked with his Slytherin friends in the Great Hall. He concentrated on his work in classes. And he managed to push his awareness of her to the back of his mind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione was late. She had meant to leave the library much, much earlier…as it was, she was too close to missing curfew for comfort. Juggling her books and scrolls, she hurried down the corridors and up staircases, making her way toward Gryffindor Tower.

She was just turning a corner when someone going the opposite way knocked her over, books and scrolls and pens spilling all over the hall.

"Merlin, Granger," a horribly familiar voice said. "What on earth are you carrying all this stuff for?"

"I was at the library," she answered, pulling herself to her knees and starting to pick up her things. To her surprise, the person who had knocked her down joined her.

She looked up and caught Draco Malfoy's eyes by accident, losing her train of thought.

"And you thought you'd just bring the whole library back to Gryffindor Tower?" he smirked. "The idiocy of that idea just bowls me over. I don't think any of those brave and gallant warriors can read."

"Speaking of idiocy," she huffed, narrowing her eyes. "A duel? Really?"

He spread out his arms. "No, not really. As you know, I didn't show up. That was a while ago, Granger…although I have to admit, I'm still quite disappointed that your little boyfriends didn't get caught. Speaking of getting caught…did you know Potter has a broom?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's supposed to help us win the Quidditch Cup, which I'm supposed to care about. So I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that."

He snorted. "Sure. Go ahead and pretend, but you don't fool me. You're dying to go and tell a teacher, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed in anger. "I don't know why I'm talking to you. You're a bit of a prat, Malfoy."

"I'm also your first friend here," he replied.

She stepped closer to him, pointing at his chest. "Pureblood," she said. She pointed at herself. "Muggle-born. That 'friendship' didn't last beyond you finding out my last name."

Draco wiped all emotion from his face. "Whatever you believe," he said. "Good day, Miss… _Granger_." He bowed mockingly, then pushed past her ungraciously to continue down the corridor.

She snorted, and continued walking in the opposite direction.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco was heading toward the library when he ran into Neville Longbottom, walking out alone.

The boy irritated him. Neville was a right dunce, never able to get anything right, and in the library? Draco was surprised Longbottom hadn't set half the shelves on fire.

"Lost something, Longbottom?" he drawled. He could hear Crabbe and Goyle cracking their knuckles behind him. "Your memory, perhaps?"

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Longbottom said shakily.

"Maybe he's looking for his toad again," Draco said to Crabbe, and he and Goyle chuckled.

"N…no…" Neville stuttered. He began to back away.

"Wait!" Draco said sharply as the boy turned to go. He drew his wand. "Hang on a second." He pointed his wand at Longbottom. "Locomotor Mortis!" Neville's legs locked together, and he stumbled up so he was leaning against a wall.

Crabbe and Goyle snickered loudly behind him. "I was looking for someone to practice on," he sneered.

Longbottom trembled, not even reaching for his wand, which was visible in his back pocket. "You're not even going to try to fight me?" Draco asked, although he wasn't surprised. "How on _earth_ did you get in Gryffindor?" Neville didn't answer, just stood there, staring at Malfoy. "Thanks for helping, Longbottom." Draco laughed. "It's too bad I don't know the counter-curse."

He began walking back toward the dungeons, Crabbe and Goyle following. The library could wait.

As they walked, he could hear thumping in the corridor behind them. He snickered as he imagined Neville trying to hop back to Gryffindor Tower.

It was irrational, and untrue. No basis in fact at all. But that didn't change that he blamed Longbottom for losing Hermione. Even if she would have been lost to him anyway.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He hated that Weasley had made fun of her for getting the spell right. He hated that he noticed she was upset about it. He hated that he couldn't go after her.

Muggle-born, Draco reminded himself. Mudblood.

He hated that out of the blue, Hermione was best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley after Halloween. He hated that he hadn't been the one to save her from the troll. He hated that he hadn't sent a Christmas present. He hated that he hadn't talked to her since October. He hated that it had been three months, and he hated that he was counting.

He hated that she was so good at ignoring him. Her eyes glided over him in the Great Hall, and he was as good as invisible during Potions and the other classes they had together.

He hated that she was doing it now.

She doesn't even like flying, Draco thought bitterly as he stalked up the stands, looking for Hermione out of the corner of his eye. That much he knew, from the disastrous flying lesson that had gotten Potter on his House's Quidditch team. Potter. He was the only reason she was there.

He took a seat behind Weasley, knocking into the boy as much as possible.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

He grinned at the two boys who followed him around everywhere. With them backing him up, he began talking. Talking and talking and talking, trying and trying to get her to turn around, to say something, even if it was to yell at him.

But she was doing what she was good at, she was pretending he wasn't there.

And she still ignored him, even when Longbottom talked back to him.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy."

No, he wasn't. Neville couldn't do the simplest spells, the simplest potions. He tripped over his feet every single time he tried to walk up a staircase.

Draco knew Longbottom wasn't worth one of a Malfoy.

"If brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

"Ron- Harry!"

Hermione interrupted Ron's clumsy threat, and they both watched as the Boy Who Lived dove toward the ground.

Draco felt something inside him twinge as he found himself looking at the back of their heads as they willed their friend to win.

"You're in luck, Weasley. Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" he snapped, and Ron tackled him.

 _If this doesn't get her attention_ , he thought, _what will?_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione hadn't noticed Malfoy until Harry had hushed them, pointing the Slytherin out. Then she back tracked, as she was apt to do when she noticed the blond boy staring at her.

_What had she been saying?_

_What had she been doing_?

More importantly, _had she been staring at him, too?_

No to the last one, this time, at least. She had been talking to Ron and Harry…about Hagrid's dragon. And if he had heard that…Malfoy had it out for Harry, Ron, herself, and Hagrid. This could be very bad indeed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A dragon.

They had a dragon.

He had followed them, just far away enough that they wouldn't have been able to see him if they turned around.

Draco had stared as the dragon had hatched. He had never seen one before. He might have liked to watch longer, but the oaf who owned the reptile had caught sight of him.

He ran as fast as he could back to the castle, his heart filled with malicious pleasure. A _dragon_. Potter would be expelled for sure if they found out he was helping to hide it.

This was going to be good.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Ron was bitten, Malfoy almost couldn't believe it. He had known that Weasleys were stupid, but stupid enough to get close enough to a dragon for it to bite you? Weasley was reaching new heights of ignorance every day.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up, especially given that he knew _exactly_ what had bitten the Weasley.

"Hello, Ron," he said politely as he entered the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey, I need to borrow a book from my … _friend_ … Ron, here. Is it okay if I talk to him for a few minutes?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and headed toward her office, muttering under her breath about the different herbs and potions she would need.

"Dog bite, my foot." Draco smirked as he caught that part of her monologue.

He sauntered up to Ron's bed, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world. " _Dog_ bite, eh?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said defensively.

"Are we sure it's a _dog_ bite?" Malfoy sat on the chair next to Ron. "I mean, considering what Hagrid's got cooking up in that _wooden_ hut of his."

"Quite sure, thank you," Ron said sullenly. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I was in need of a good laugh," Draco replied. "Thank you for providing it for me."

"Yes, very funny," Ron muttered darkly. "Whenever I want a laugh, I visit someone who's in pain."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I'd be _very_ careful, Weasley," he said quietly. "Wouldn't want Pomfrey to find out what _actually_ bit you, now, would we?"

Ron froze. Draco stood, clapping his hands together. "Well," he said. "I find I tire of this place very easily. I'll just take my book now, and be off."

He grabbed a textbook off the top of the pile Ron had stacked by his bed _. Probably brought to him by Hermione,_ Draco thought. Ron didn't seem like someone to try to keep up with school work while in the hospital wing.

Saluting the ginger boy sarcastically, Draco strolled out of the hospital wing to join Greg and Vincent outside. As they walked down the corridor, something fell out of Weasley's textbook.

"Malfoy," Goyle grunted, picking up the piece of paper. Draco turned, annoyed.

"What, Goyle," he snapped.

"This fell out of the book," Greg mumbled.

Draco snatched it from him, and began to scan the letter.

At first, it didn't interest him, just another letter from one of the innumerable Weasley brothers. Suddenly, his eyes snagged on a phrase.

_Norwegian Ridgeback…illegal dragon…midnight on Saturday…_

Malfoy whooped.

"Malfoy?" Crabbe said hesitantly.

"Gentlemen," Draco said, smiling widely, "Our day just got so much better."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Saturday at midnight._

Draco smirked as he crept down the halls and up the staircases, keeping an eye out for Filch, his cat, or Peeves. He would get them. He would find them, wherever they were, and expose them. Then Harry Potter would finally be gone, out of his hair and Hermione…

He hoped Hermione wasn't with him.

He was close. His breathing sped up as he got closer to the Astronomy Tower. He was so close…

And then, quite suddenly, he wasn't.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall screeched, and he panicked briefly before she latched onto him and began to drag him down the hall.

"Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you – "

Draco spluttered and huffed as he was pulled down the hall. "You don't understand, Professor, Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!" He threw his trump card at her, figuratively speaking, of course. He was sure this would make her stop for a moment at least, spur her to conduct _some_ sort of investigation, but she didn't even pause.

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies!"

Draco tuned her out and slumped, resigning himself to his fate. 'How dare you' seemed to be the theme of the night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

Hermione was bursting with happiness as they pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and stood in the cool air up on the Astronomy Tower. She had been so scared, they all had, of Malfoy telling. The consequences for that would have been horrible.

Now, he was the one who lost in the game they had been playing. He had gotten the information, sure, but fat lot of good it did him!

She thought she would sing if it weren't midnight on a Saturday when they were supposed to be in bed in Gryffindor Tower.

"Don't," Harry said, out of breath, bringing her back to the present. She sobered, and they quickly got the dragon off their hands.

Such a relief, she thought as she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. They watched the dragon keepers carry Norbert off into the night.

Hermione was abruptly knocked off her high when they came to the bottom of the Astronomy Tower stairs.

"Well, well, well," Argus Filch hissed. "We are in trouble."

Hermione inwardly groaned. This was what came of counting chickens before they were hatched. Now, they'd be _seeing_ Malfoy in detention.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall._

_Professor M. McGonagall_.

Malfoy crumpled the note in his fist, shoving it into the bottom of his pocket. He looked around. The Entrance Hall was empty as far as he could see, but it was only ten forty-five. He was surprised Granger hadn't forced Potter down here sooner.

Filch appeared at ten minutes to eleven, and they had to wait another seven minutes for Potter and Granger. He mustered up a smirk for them, but really, he felt sick to his stomach.

They had been miserable all week. He, for one, was grateful to them for distracting the school from the twenty points he had lost that same night.

But he was not grateful for the detention they had lured him into. The Forbidden Forest! Before he could stop himself, he was spitting out words.

He was only unsettled, he told himself. Not really scared, like Longbottom obviously was.

But fear…sometimes, it sneaks up on you, and when Draco learned they'd be tracking something that had been mauled, he was significantly more unsettled.

Of course he was paired up with Longbottom.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, Draco became more and more sure of himself, while Neville seemed to lose confidence every step he took. Suddenly, an idea came to him.

Draco picked up his pace, walking faster as Neville stumbled along behind. A few yards later, he heard the clumsy boy fall down onto the ground. He grinned wickedly as he snuck around the back, and came up behind Longbottom.

"Boo!" he shouted. Longbottom squealed, an undignified sound that had Malfoy convulsing in laughter. Unfortunately, the prank was short lived. Along with screeching, Longbottom sent up sparks that had Hagrid thundering toward them.

Draco groaned as Hagrid, using bad pronunciation and bad grammar, attempted to tell a Malfoy off.

Too bad he couldn't use, 'My father will be hearing about this!' in this situation, Draco thought. In this situation, Hagrid could probably use that phrase on him. He did not want his father to find out he had been caught, and given detention. In the Forbidden Forest, of all places. Endangering himself was one thing the sole heir of a prestigious family should never do. Draco had had this drilled into his head his whole life. He wasn't about to spurn that rule now.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If there was one thing Draco hated, it was not knowing something that was going on in the castle. He pouted more than half the day the day after Harry Potter was taken to the hospital wing, because no one had thought to inform him until hours later.

He was a tad melodramatic, and he knew it. Sometimes he did it on purpose, just to see how far he could push sycophantic idiots like Pansy and Greg and Vincent before they cracked.

Blaise Zabini was impossible. He just watched Draco push them around with a knowing smirk on his face.

The whole story leaked over to the first year Slytherins eventually. Professor Quirrell, the stutterer who couldn't say boo to a mouse, had had the Dark Lord attached to the back of his head.

"That explains the smell," Zabini snorted when they heard that.

"Dark Lords aren't big on personal hygiene?" Draco had asked in a faux innocent manner.

"Apparently not, no," Zabini had replied.

And it had been a good story, until he learned Hermione had been involved.

Then, he had tried to pry more and more information from Zabini, seeing what she had done, until the Italian boy had finally shouted, "Enough already! I'm going to start thinking you like the stupid girl if you keep asking questions."

That had quite effectively shut Draco up, because he didn't like Granger, not at all. And it simply wouldn't do to have people thinking that he did.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 _The end of the year was perfec_ t, Hermione thought as she and her best friends, Harry and Ron, entered the Great Hall. Even though Slytherin had won the House Cup, and she had gotten detention, and her first attempt to make friends didn't go over well, she was ending the year _perfectly_.

She sat down at the Gryffindor table, which was slightly subdued as Professor Dumbledore began awarding the House Cup.

Slytherin cheered and banged on the table and stamped. She saw Draco Malfoy looking simply gleeful. As she watched, he turned his head and met her gaze, his smile fading for a moment. She quickly looked back to the front, to Dumbledore.

That was when the Headmaster began awarding some 'last-minute-points'.

_To Ron, fifty points._

_To her, fifty points_.

_To Harry, sixty points._

One hundred and sixty plus three hundred and twelve made four hundred and seventy two.

Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins looked significantly less pleased with themselves.

_To Neville Longbottom, ten points._

And so the decorations were changed, and Neville was lauded as a true hero. Gryffindor, for the first time in seven years, had won the House Cup.

Still, amid all the excitement, she permitted herself one more glance at Draco.

He was looking down, muttering to the olive-skinned boy sitting next to him. Although she was simply overjoyed that Gryffindor won…she couldn't help but feel sorry for the Slytherins, all sitting so pale and quiet, their victory stolen from them…

The pale blond head began to turn towards her, and she quickly looked away before she could be caught staring.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .

Hermione stepped out of the compartment briefly on their way home. Ron had thought they were supposed to wear their school robes home, and now he had to change on the train. Of course, since she was a girl, she left to give him some privacy.

Outside the compartment, she stopped, leaning on the wall. She pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket, took it out of its envelope.

At the beginning of the year, she had been so scared. She had known next to nothing about the world she was entering into; Hermione hadn't known how muggle grades translated into the wizarding world, and she was scared that her marks would drop.

Now, she unfolded the parchment to look at her exam results, not for the first time. She was proud of herself for Es and Os she had gotten. She, Hermione Granger, had entered into a new world and prevailed.

Hermione smiled to herself as she looked at the paper. Suddenly, it was tweaked out of her hands.

"Hey!" she yelped. She looked up to see Draco Malfoy, alone for once, looking over her exam results.

He raised his eyebrows and whistled. "Well, well, well, Granger," he said. "You did make a good showing on exam week."

"Surprised?" she asked flippantly. "That a muggle-born got grades that are probably better than yours?"

Hurt, and a bit of apprehension, flashed over his face.

"No," he replied. "You've always had to be the smartest of us all."

Grimacing, he threw the paper back at her and continued down the corridor. His father had access to all the student grades at Hogwarts. He was _not_ looking forward to the conversation, fast approaching, about how his grades compared to others.

He looked behind him and saw her picking up her paper, smiling at it. Despite himself, he grinned. She had a good first year, he thought to himself. And despite the slight annoyance that was Harry Potter, so had he.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


End file.
